Never Let You Go
by Moomkin
Summary: Kanan's past won't stay buried, and reveals more than he wants when he accidentally uses the Force Connection on Hera. Agnsty fluff.


_You never bury anything dead._

 _Especially the past. You think you can kill it if you just cover it well enough, but the past doesn't suffocate. It's always looking to claw its way back to the surface. And once it senses the light of day?_

Of course by the time Kanan Jarrus came to that realization, it was too late.

He woke with a start, his heart pounding against his bare chest, sweat dripping down his brow. _Just in time._ He'd been dreaming again, dreaming about being back on that planet. Kaller. He didn't want to go there, _dreaded_ it in fact. Good thing he woke before he had to relive it again.

But waking up didn't drive the memories away. All he had to think was, _was I dreaming about_ that _again?_ and it was an invitation for the past to force its way to the front of his mind again.

Kanan knew he was balancing on a dangerous ledge – either get control _fast_ or be lost to the terror. He'd been trained on how to find calm, how to separate oneself from the fear, but he had been neglecting his Jedi training for years. What time was there to sharpen _those_ skills when he had to sharpen the ones that would keep him alive? Now, in desperation, he realized he didn't have the will power to subdue the terror. Not anymore.

He sucked in a breath and pressed his feet against the floor of his room, as if he could stop his decent. But the plunge happened too fast. The same fear, the same hopelessness. It returned with such coercion, it felt as fresh as that day, more than a decade ago.

Kanan wasn't going to take this laying down.

But who could he turn to? Even if being a part of _The Ghost_ crew was the closest to family he'd ever had, even if he was willing to risk his life for any of them, he had never burdened them with his past. He couldn't. He had to be their fearless leader – level headed, clear thinking. How could anyone trust him if they knew he'd been a coward? That he ran away?

 _Distract yourself._

That, at least, was more dependable than reaching back on his Jedi training.

 __Kanan was so eager to escape he didn't wait long enough to get dressed. Who was on watch? It didn't matter – he just had to keep one step ahead of the past, like he'd always done.

Kanan walked up the corridor to the cockpit and tried to plaster a smile on his face. It was Hera. _Of course it had to be her._ Why couldn't it be Zeb? Out of everyone on _The Ghost_ , Zeb would have asked the least amount of questions. But Hera?

"You feeling alright, love?"

Crooked smile didn't get passed her.

"Couldn't go back to bed," Kanan barely recognized his voice. His racing heart gave it a faint wobble. _Crank up the fake smile a little more_. "Want to get some extra sleep? I'll finish your watch."

Hera raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Really must have been some nightmare for you to want to pick up an extra shift."

"Hey-" Kanan started, before realizing Hera hadn't just called him out on his work ethic, but saw right through his lies, too.

"You're not getting rid of me that easily. Might as well sit down."

Kanan slumped into the chair next to hers. Even if he could feel her stare, he kept his eyes glued to the window. The sights of traveling through hyperspace might be enough to lull him back to sleep. If he was lucky. His heart was still racing, his whole body tingled with adrenaline, but if he just focused on something else…

Too late Kanan realized the longer he went without talking, his past found another chance to worm its way into his thoughts.

He felt her hand on his shoulder. Warm. A faint squeeze.

"Hey, you in there?"

Hera wouldn't be so easily ignored. He had no idea what she could feel under her hand. A body drenched in cold sweat? His pulse hammering just under the skin? Trembling muscles suffering from the adrenaline dump?

Kanan reached up to grab her arm, but that was a mistake.

 _The cool of the night air, the smell of exotic foliage and dirt, the crackling of a fire. All of it, as real as day, black and white, as if he'd somehow transported himself back there and was living it, not as a memory, but as it happened._

 _He could see his hand held out before his eyes. He was holding the holocron his master had just given him. He tilted it ever so slightly, to let the glow of the flames light up the golden cube, while at the same time, letting the radiance of the three moons above them reflect off the glass._

 _And then a hand grabbed onto his arm._

" _Caleb Dume!"_

 _The holocron, the fire, the forest canopy – it all disappeared. His vision swam with images that he could barely understand. Was it a Vision – was he seeing the future? But through the power of the Force, he gained a connection to all of them, and he could feel their pain – even their deaths._

 _All across the galaxy, the Jedi were being hunted. Killed. At that exact moment._

 _The hand on his arm let go, and the images stopped. He was back in the forest._

 _"Run."_

 _He still couldn't believe it. Even as he scrambled to his feet, the sound of weapons charging, the sight of his master drawing her lightsaber – it couldn't be happening. The feeling he'd experienced – the deaths he seen – it didn't make it any easier to take._

" _Execute Order 66. Execute the Jedi."_

 _Even when the blasters fired, he couldn't believe it was actually happening. Not even a minute ago, these clones had been teasing him. Just that same night, they had rushed to defend his master's honor and assured her of her worth as a military general. And without remorse. Without a second thought, they were trying to kill them._

" _Run!"_

 _He turned and ran. He didn't stop running. Not even at the sound of his master's light saber cutting through bodies. People who were his friends. Friends who were now trying to kill him._

" _The Padawan is getting away!"_

" _Concentrate fire on the kid."_

 _He turned back, just quick enough to see Master Billaba reach out with the Force. One of the clones – Styles, it must have been – had his weapon pointed up the hill. Pointed at him. But the weapon flew from the clone's grasp before he could pull the trigger._

 _He knew – understood – that if Master Billaba hadn't grabbed that weapon, he would have been shot. He would have been dead. But she'd left her guard down._

" _MASTER!"_

 _She never heard him. He watched – helplessly beyond any way to help – as her body fell. The other clones didn't leave anything to chance. They surrounded her crumpled form and fired relentlessly, repeatedly. There was no doubt. Master Billaba was dead._

 _They really did it._

 _The clones were coming up the hill, and the terror of being hunted was worse than the sudden fear of being alone. It pushed him on.  
_

_Dread filled him. Terror of being unprotected, of being unprepared. Disgust at himself – why did he run? He couldn't have been so obedient that he merely followed her orders… Why didn't he stay and fight beside her?_

 _The Force prickled in his mind, and without questioning it, he swung his lightsaber behind him. The crack he heard confirmed his fears – deflecting blaster shots. They really were coming to kill him. Get to the top of the hill… lose them. Run like your master told you._

 _Except when he looked down the other side of the hill, he realized he couldn't run anymore. The light of those cursed three moons. The hillside sloping down ahead of him was bathed in light. He couldn't run. He would have to hide. Hide like a coward and hope they couldn't find him-_

"Kanan?"

Kanan released Hera's arm as though it burned him. The Force connection… but he couldn't have… He could barely depend on his training to calm his nerves at a mere nightmare – how could he have suddenly conjured up the ability to do _that_?

Kanan kept his eyes glued on the control panel, hoping that maybe he'd just had some kind of flashback. A super intense flashback. The kind that couldn't be shared.

"K-kanan? What was that?"

Hera's voice. It was shaky. Fragile. Kanan grimaced, regret replacing fear.

It wasn't that he wanted to keep secrets… it wasn't that he couldn't trust her. Maybe he could have gotten to telling Hera about his past one day, but not like this…

"I-"

How was he going to even explain what happened. Did he even _know_ what happened?

A glimmer of hope – the longer he stalled, the longer the silence dragged, the more possible it was that maybe he could get out of this altogether. What was there to say anyways? The truth was out. There was no way to gloss it over. He was a coward.

"Talk to me."

The tone on her voice. He didn't know if it was horror… or revulsion... What he shared with her… he couldn't leave her with that.

"I'm s-sorry."

What else was there to say?

And in that moment, he loathed himself for neglecting his Jedi training for so long. This is what led to the Dark Side. Being undisciplined. Being unable to control one's fear. He'd let the dread of being discovered as a Jedi – of being rounded up and executed keep such a hold over him that he hadn't used his lightsaber for ages. Even years after he'd been successfully hiding from the Empire's relentless hunt – He buried his past. He suppressed his emotions because acknowledging them was something he was too weak to do. And he used the fear of discovery as an excuse. That's all it was. An excuse to not face his past.

He tried to protect himself by arguing that staying alive – staying hidden – was what gave his master's sacrifice meaning. It gave it purpose. If he were reckless, and he got himself captured? Then she died in vain. And he'd let that fear of letting her down control his life… led him to neglect a part of who he was. A part that if not under control would hurt those around him… like he'd just hurt Hera.

But how to say any of that? And not sound absolutely pathetic?

He realized he'd been sitting there – a panicked look on his face – for minutes without answering. Hera got up out of her seat, and Kanan turned his head away. That was it… he blew his chance. He'd abandoned her when she was scared… and what now? Was she so disgusted in him that she was going back to her room? He made up his mind – when _the Ghost_ landed, he'd-

Hera was sitting in his lap, pushing his hands away from his face, tilting his chin so he _had_ to look into her eyes. He wanted to say he was sorry again, but before the words could escape, her lips were pressed against his. Softly. Sweetly.

And then she rested her head on his shoulder. Kanan wrapped his arms around her and held onto her like he would never let her go. The glow of hyperspace replaced the reflections from the holocron of his memories. The smells of the ship, metallic and mechanical and stale, replaced the fire and the dirt of Kaller. And the warmth of love… it replaced the cold darkness of regret.

He didn't have to run. Not anymore.


End file.
